


Finish Line

by heondreds



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Blood, Car Accidents, Crying, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Heavy Angst, Horror, M/M, Mild Gore, No Smut, Not my brand at all, Panic Attacks, Sorry subscribers this is different, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heondreds/pseuds/heondreds
Summary: Choi Beomgyu dies on a Thursday.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 33
Kudos: 75





	Finish Line

**Author's Note:**

> i used to write horror, back in the day... 💭 ah, memories
> 
> there’s no smut in this one, sorry
> 
> and like the tags say, this does contain major character death and basically nothing else. be careful - it’s not for everyone so don’t force yourself to read it

Choi Beomgyu dies on a Thursday.

It’s a nasty accident, a hit and run. They’re on their way back from the corner store, just before midnight, because Beomgyu had whined and pouted and tugged at Yeonjun’s sleeve until he’d agreed to sneak out with him, go on a secret snack run for ice cream and gummies when they should be sleeping.

There’s no one around, the few short blocks they walk deserted. Beomgyu is excited, buzzing from their little rebellion. Yeonjun’s carrying the bag with their haul, swinging it from his wrist, comfortable playing the doting big brother, content to watch the younger skip down the sidewalk. His glee is infectious.

It’s wet out, too. Not unbearable, just a light drizzle that started while they were in the store, but it makes the streets slick and shiny, sticks Yeonjun’s jacket to his skin. He tells Beomgyu they should hurry up, says something about getting home before anyone notices they’ve gone.

It hardly matters, what he says. What matters is the way Beomgyu turns to look at him as he speaks, smiles bright and wide, hair sticking to his forehead, and nods at his words. Then he spins back around to face forward, but his shoe loses grip on the wet sidewalk and he slips off the curb, stumbles out into the road.

Yeonjun’s first reaction is to laugh, of course. He didn’t fall, he’s not hurt, he’s still standing on two feet and that was _funny_. It was clumsy and graceless and would have been embarrassing if anyone else had seen. And Beomgyu’s laughing too, loud and unrestrained. He seems younger, impossibly younger, like he isn’t already weighed down by expectations and exhaustion. He seems normal, just a kid, like he should be.

There’s no one else around, until there is.

Lights appear around the corner, the rumble of an engine that Yeonjun can barely hear over the rain, over their laughter. Then a car swerves into view, skids a little on the wet asphalt, going entirely too fast for the area, the weather. Yeonjun’s gaze flicks between the car, rapidly approaching, and Beomgyu, still out in the road, mirth twinkling in his eyes.

He connects the dots. An alarm goes off in his head, _danger_ , an instruction to reach forward, grab the younger, pull him back onto the sidewalk. But it’s muted, layered behind something else, something thick and foggy and detached. A wet blanket draped over his thoughts, dense and heavy.

He looks back at the car. There’s still time. The car’s fast but it’s not here yet. He could do it, he could grab Beomgyu. He _should_ grab Beomgyu.

He could do it. He _needs_ to do it. Why isn’t he doing it?

Beomgyu’s looking at him. He blinks at Yeonjun, tilts his head slightly. He’s still smiling, but he’s curious. _Why have you stopped laughing?_

Then there’s a _crunch_ , and Beomgyu vanishes.

The car squeals, screeches, something thuds. There’s a splintering crack, maybe someone yells, Yeonjun doesn’t know. He thinks he flinches, but he can’t be sure. It’s a wail of sound, louder than the pulse roaring in his ears, but it’s over as soon as it starts. The car recovers quickly, tires scrabbling for purchase, then it’s gone, turning a corner and speeding away.

Yeonjun stares. Beomgyu didn’t vanish, no. He’s still there. But he’s on the ground, twitching, weak coughs expelling blood from his mouth. He’s choking on it. His arm is twisted at a terrible angle, a bone poking up from his shin.

Yeonjun watches. The rain is pelting down now, beating onto his head and shoulders, weighing down his clothes. Beomgyu looks up at him, blood dribbling out the corners of his mouth, into his hair, joining the pool forming beneath his head. His eyes are shaky, unfocused. Is he crying? Yeonjun can’t tell.

It’s maybe ten, fifteen seconds, then Beomgyu gurgles and stills. Only his eyelids move, fluttering like he’s trying not to close his eyes. Fighting off sleep. Yeonjun watches the rise and fall of Beomgyu’s chest, shallow and uneven and slower, slower, and waits for him to move again.

A car horn sounds in the distance, and Yeonjun jolts. Like a bucket of ice water over his head, the rain is so cold it burns, acid on his skin, but he’s snapped out of whatever had frozen him in place. Something hot and frantic pierces through him, a sudden tight knot in his chest that clenches so hard he gasps, sways on his feet. He staggers out into the road, and drops to his knees in the puddle of blood around Beomgyu.

A pulse, that’s what he needs to find, right? He reaches out to touch the younger, but his hand feels too heavy. The bag. He’s still holding the bag. Why is he still holding the bag?

It catches on his wrist, his fingers as he tries to wrench it out of his grip, panic rising as the plastic tangles around him, muscles locking. The contents, the ice cream, gummies, scatter across the road as he finally frees himself, throwing it blindly aside, but that doesn’t matter, how can that matter? He lays his shaking hands on Beomgyu’s neck.

He holds his breath. _One, two, three_. There’s a pulse, but it’s weak. Fading. Yeonjun slides his hands up to hold Beomgyu’s jaw, tilts his head gently toward him, watches the blood spill out of his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Yeonjun says. He rubs his fingers behind Beomgyu’s ears, the way he likes. It always makes him hum, pleased, like a cat purring. Yeonjun can’t hear if it does this time. “It’s okay. Hyung’s gonna… hyung’s gonna get you home, alright?”

Beomgyu groans as Yeonjun moves him - that’s good, right? The noise is quiet, wet, makes the blood bubble between his lips, but it’s a noise and a noise can’t be bad. He gets an arm under the younger’s fractured knees, another around his shoulders and heaves him up. It takes a few tries - he’s not helping, body limp and heavy - but Yeonjun is determined. His thighs shake when he finally has the younger gathered in his arms, bridal-style, and he can hear Beomgyu’s breath rattle by his ear, and up close those are definitely tears on his face.

“Okay, Beommie?” he says, voice tight, strained. There’s blood staining through Beomgyu’s wet shirt, spreading fast and crimson. Yeonjun’s heart is pounding, vision starting to blur around the edges. He can barely get a breath in, but he can’t panic, not in front of Beomgyu. “You’re okay. We’ll be home soon.”

It’s only a block away. They don’t see anyone on the way back. The streets are empty, the only sounds Yeonjun’s burdened footsteps on the wet sidewalk and the blood in his ears and Beomgyu’s wet wheezing and the persistent rain. And Beomgyu falls silent somewhere along the way, feeble breaths drowned out by the rain. The knot in Yeonjun’s chest grows spikes as the breaths disappear, but he pushes it aside. The rain is so loud. It’s hard to hear.

Their building is similarly deserted. Who would be up at this hour? His muscles protest as he climbs the stairs with the younger, body burning and chest aching. Beomgyu is heavy, heavier than ever, and so still. His head is lolling away from Yeonjun, dropping off the back of his arm. It can’t be comfortable. Yeonjun shuffles him in his arms, tips him closer, cradles the younger against his chest. The blood oozing out of Beomgyu’s mouth is slower, thicker. It seeps into Yeonjun’s shirt, sludgy and warm.

Yeonjun glances behind him at the top of the stairwell, blinks at the puddle trail they’ve left behind, sloppy and careless and red, too red. Someone will have to clean that up, he thinks. Who’s going to clean that up?

Through the door, into their dorm, Yeonjun is running on autopilot. He’s toeing off his soaked sneakers as soon as they step inside, balancing awkwardly with the younger still in his arms. He’s distracted, not thinking straight when he nudges the door with his shoulder, lets the momentum swing the door closed behind them.

It’s past midnight and the door slams shut, a bang that’s loud, _way too loud_ , echoing through the dorm. Yeonjun winces. Beomgyu hadn’t wanted to wake the others when they snuck out earlier, had made Yeonjun pull the door shut so gently it had barely clicked. This time, Yeonjun was careless.

He glances sheepishly down at Beomgyu, to see if he’s annoyed. He’s probably upset his dongsaeng by being so stupid, inconsiderate, forgetful. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything. He’s staring blankly ahead, eyes lidded and sleepy. _Right_ , bed. It’s late. He’s gotta get Beomgyu to bed.

“Almost there, Gyu,” he says, voice dropped to a whisper. His throat hurts, swollen and choked like he’s going to cry. He’s blinking back tears as he carries the younger to the bedroom, but he’s not going to cry. Why would he cry? Beomgyu stopped crying a while ago. Yeonjun can be strong, just for a little longer.

They leave their bedroom door ajar, so they can get up in the night without disturbing anyone. It works the other way now, lets Yeonjun sneak in with Beomgyu, careful not to knock the younger’s fragile legs against the doorframe as they enter. The others are sleeping, of course, safe and sound. Yeonjun can hear their soft breaths, and his vision swims with tears for a second before he pulls himself together again.

Bed. Bedtime. Beomgyu’s bed is on the top bunk, but there’s no way Beomgyu will be able to make it up there, not when he’s so tired. He could barely stand up if Yeonjun weren’t holding him. There’s the spare bottom bunk, but it’s piled with junk that Yeonjun doesn’t have the energy to clear. Beomgyu needs a bed, somewhere to rest. He won’t mind which one.

“You can sleep in hyung’s bed tonight,” he tells Beomgyu, near silent, a pathetic whisper forced out through his tight throat. It prickles, matching the sharp tingling of his arms, his muscles protesting against holding the younger for any longer. “Special treat, yeah?”

The numbness is setting in, everywhere, limbs turning to lead, so he staggers over to his bed and carefully, slowly lays Beomgyu down. His head lolls off Yeonjun’s arm again as he’s lowered, but it soon sinks into Yeonjun’s pillow, wet hair clumping dark against the fabric. He’s pliant as Yeonjun rearranges his broken limbs, settles him down comfortably, eyes staring blankly past the older as he fusses. Yeonjun tries to be quick about it, claiming a desire to help the younger get as much sleep as possible tonight, but something clawing as his chest says he’s quick because he can’t bear to look for too long, can’t linger on the bruises, the blood, that bone still splintering out of his shin. It must hurt so, _so much_ , but Beomgyu hasn’t complained. Beomgyu hasn’t said a word.

Beomgyu’s clothes are still soaked, rose-colored water seeping into Yeonjun’s sheets, and Yeonjun tries to undress the younger, slip his jacket off at least, but it’s hard, harder than it’s ever been. Beomgyu isn’t helping, won’t sit up or lift his arms or anything, and Yeonjun can’t move him around too much, not when he’s injured. It’s not fair on him. He’s too tired, they both are. He needs his rest right now. Beomgyu will be fine if he sleeps in his clothes, Yeonjun decides. Just for one night.

So the clothes stay on, but Yeonjun can’t let Beomgyu sleep in his shoes. They’re easy to pull off, laces undoing with a gentle tug, and he can slip them off without moving Beomgyu’s legs at all. They’re sneakers, the same kind Yeonjun was wearing. He turns them over in his hands, glances at the soles, at the deep criss-cross treads. Yeonjun’s shoes had enough grip for the wet sidewalk. He didn’t slip once. So what was wrong with Beomgyu’s shoes? Why did he slip?

And suddenly it hurts to look at the shoes, so he drops them to the floor, kicks them under his bed. And it hurts to look at Beomgyu, so he turns around to pull off his own clothes. They’re soaked too, still dripping, shirt sticking to his skin like it’s grabbing him, desperate, like claws, like it won’t let go. He feels suffocated, restricted, panic rising again, and he’s trying to stay calm for Beomgyu but he has to get the claws away from him, has to free himself as soon as possible. His jacket splats on the floorboards as he frantically shakes it off, whipping his shirt sloppily off over his head, stumbling as he peels off his jeans. He gathers up the filthy clothes, drops them into the hamper, and feels better. Panic over.

He wants to take a shower, but he can’t leave Beomgyu alone right now. It’s just one night, he can wash up in the morning. He picks something dry from the wardrobe, something oversized and loose, uncaring whose clothes they actually are as he throws them on. His hair is damp, water seeping into the collar of his shirt, raindrops on his shoulders again, and it’s not okay but he can deal with it. He has to.

Beomgyu’s eyes are still open when Yeonjun turns back around. He’s unfocused, gazing blankly out into the room. Yeonjun sighs, shaky and wet - aiming for admonishing but falling short. Beomgyu should be sleeping already. He’s always so stubborn.

“Bedtime, Gyu,” he says, grabbing the blanket from the foot of the bed and pulling it up, tucking Beomgyu in gently. He imagines the blanket like a bandage, clean and healing. When he’s done, he steps back, looks over the younger. Covered up, broken body hidden under the blanket, he looks normal again. Peaceful. “There. All done.”

There’s a rustle from one of the other beds behind him, then a small, sleepy voice.

“Hyung?”

Yeonjun can’t figure out who it is, can’t take his gaze away from Beomgyu lying in his bed, pillow gradually staining red, lidded eyes still staring out blankly. Yeonjun is hyper aware of the tacky, itchy feeling of the blood and rain drying on his forearms.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers. Whoever it is hums in return, rustles like he’s turning over, then falls silent.

And it was silent before, but suddenly the silence is too much. Yeonjun’s hands are shaking again, and it’s getting worse as he looks down at Beomgyu, growing into strong tremors, racking his whole body, stuttering his breath. Yeonjun needs to lie down, he needs to _stop_ , he needs to sleep, but Beomgyu still has his eyes open and he can’t sleep like that, he _can’t_ , so Yeonjun reaches out and slips his eyelids down, and he wants to be as featherlight and gentle as possible, but his arm is shaking and his hand is shaking and there’s nothing delicate about the way he closes Beomgyu’s eyes, and he’s _so_ sure he’s hurt the younger, he’s been careless again and upset his dongsaeng, and his heart is pounding and his head is thumping and he thinks he’s going to be sick but he turns and climbs the ladder up to Beomgyu’s bed, the one the younger should be sleeping in instead of him, and he crawls under the covers and he buries his face in Beomgyu’s pillow and he breathes in Beomgyu’s scent and he fights back the tears again and again and they won’t stop coming, won’t stop trying to get out so he squeezes his eyes shut, pulls the covers over his head and tries to pretend he can hear four people breathing, not three.

He just needs sleep, that’s all. That’s what Yeonjun’s mom used to tell him, when he was cranky or stressed or upset about nothing. Everything seems bad at night, but wait for the morning. That’s all it takes.

It’ll all be better in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~be quiet, don’t cry~~
> 
> the original idea for this was as the start of a chaptered supernatural horror fic... but i’m realistic about my own attention span so it’s just a bleak one-shot for now
> 
> [cc always open ](https://curiouscat.me/heondreds)


End file.
